


Lullaby

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Rosie Watson fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, John Sings, Love Confessions, Lullabies, M/M, Parenthood, Sweet, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: When Sherlock overhears John singing to Rosie, well, it seems to be the final step in a long journey.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Колыбельная](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698685) by [Fanfiction_Johnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction_Johnlock/pseuds/Fanfiction_Johnlock)



It was an accident, Sherlock would swear it. They’d just returned to 221B a few weeks earlier, and he went looking for John to show him the results of an experiment. As much as possible they’d tried to pick up their lives where they’d left off, but this time with more babyproofing and the sound of little feet in the hall.

He stopped just outside Rosie’s room, hearing something he’d never heard before. John was singing, something low and soft and Gaelic. Sherlock froze, transfixed, part of his mind trying to translate, more of him stunned by the fact that John’s voice was actually very good. 

John had never seemed like the singing type. He might hum along with the radio when he cleaned the flat, but Sherlock had long since tuned that out. Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Quiet as he could be, he peeked into the room.

The sight would melt anyone’s heart. John was sitting in the rocking chair, illuminated only by the small night light. He gently held Rosie in his arms as he rocked, the little girl already asleep or near to it.

John stood and carefully lay her in her crib as he finished the song, kissing her forehead. Sherlock jerked back, not wanting to be caught, only to step on one of Rosie’s toys and smack the wall in an attempt to keep from falling.

Fortunately, Rosie was asleep enough not to stir, though Sherlock had barely righted himself by the time John stepped out and closed the door. “Did you need something?” he asked softly.

“It’s not important,” said Sherlock, bending down to pick up the offending toy.

John took it from him. “Must be if you came looking for me.” He opened the door again and set it on a shelf, then closed it one more time and led the way downstairs.

“I didn’t know you sang to her,” said Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs.

“Obviously,” smirked John, “My mum used to sing to us when we were small.”

 _Before she passed away_ was very clearly unsaid. Sherlock swallowed. “You’re really quite good.”

John shrugged. “I did choir for about five minutes before Da decided that it wasn’t the right place for me and I had to go out for rugby instead.”

“I believe we’ve already established that your father was a bevy of poor decisions.”

John made his way to his chair and settled. “He got my mum to marry him somehow. He just didn’t take her dying on him well.”

Sherlock started to speak and for once swallowed it back. There was no need to point out that Rosie would similarly be growing up without a parent, and John was already doing better than his father had. Instead, he went into the kitchen and returned with two teas, setting one by John’s elbow. He’d picked up his bible, though Sherlock knew he wasn’t that religious of a man. Maybe it was simply all they’d been through.

Quietly, Sherlock took up his violin and started playing, something similar to what John had been singing. John looked up and watched him. 

Hoping he was right, Sherlock segued into another traditional Scottish song. John smiled softly and put his book aside, standing and going to Sherlock’s side. He turned and looked at the low burning fire and quietly started to sing along.

Sherlock’s heart swelled with affection, but he kept his playing steady, letting John’s voice wash over him. They made a good pair, John’s voice harmonizing and blending with the violin until the song came to an end. Taking his violin from his chin, Sherlock found he was trembling. “John,” he said softly.

John gave him a soft, sad smile. “It’s alright,” he said.

For a moment, they studied each other in the firelight. Then John went back to his chair and picked up his tea. Sherlock put away his violin and retreated to the couch to think. By the time he came out of his mind palace John was gone, and the house was quiet, though echoing with what had just transpired.

**

John went to work the next morning, leaving Rosie in Sherlock’s hands. He actually found he didn’t mind watching her, seeing the way she explored her environment, her natural curiosity. She still mostly babbled, but sometimes Sherlock caught her imitating the way he sat and thought. 

Today he decided to take her to the park as the weather was nice. He carefully packed her diaper bag, got her dressed and was soon pushing her down the pavement. 

Sherlock settled by the toddler area, keeping a close eye on her as she started to play with the other kids. It was more of a relief than he would admit that Rosie seemed to get along with everyone. 

By late morning the sky was starting to gather clouds and he could see Rosie was starting to get a bit cranky and hungry. He bundled her home, thinking of how he’d never imagined a life like this for himself.

They got home and Sherlock settled Rosie back into the front room before fixing a meal. He even fed himself some lunch at the same time. She babbled something that sounded an awful lot like ‘thank you,’ when he put her plate in front of her. He smiled warmly and patted her head and sat next to her, looking forward to the afternoon.

**

John came home to find the two of them asleep on the sofa. Sherlock woke to him picking up his daughter and cuddling her close.

“Dada!” she said, snuggling against him and hugging his neck.

“Were you good for Sherlock?” John asked, rubbing her back.

“‘Lock nice,” she proclaimed. “Park.”

Sherlock sat up, watching them. “We went to the park. Got back before it started raining.” 

“I’m glad.” John bounced her in his arms and Sherlock retreated to the kitchen, knowing he liked to spend time with her when he got home. Despite himself he watched them over his microscope. 

An hour or so later his phone vibrated. “Is Mrs. Hudson in?” he asked John, stepping into the front room again.

“Is there a case?” he asked, looking up from the tea set he was sharing with Rosie.

“If she’s not available, then no.”

John rolled his eyes. “I told you, Sherlock, you don’t have to stop everything for us.”

But he did. Sherlock had spent far too much time without John by his side, and he knew he worked better with John there. And always, Rosie had to come first. Some things were non-negotiable.

“I’ll go see,” he said, sweeping out the door and down the stairs.

As luck would have it, Mrs. Hudson was just settling in for an evening in front of the telly and was delighted to take Rosie. Sherlock texted Lestrade that they were on their way as they climbed into a cab.

The murder was a bit interesting, perhaps a six, and they took off across the city, chasing Sherlock’s deductions and the clues. Sometime near dawn they found themselves by the Thames, waiting for Lestrade to arrive and arrest the suspect.

John stifled a yawn. Sherlock noted it, but kept an eye on the suspect's location. Suddenly a dark-haired man darted towards the river. Sherlock jumped up from their hiding place and ran towards him.

The suspect heard him coming and turned. Sherlock saw the flash of a weapon and threw himself forward. There was a grunt as they both went rolling towards the water, struggling for the murder weapon.

Sherlock managed to stop their roll at the edge, on top of the man. “Drop it,” said John. Sherlock didn’t have to look up to know John was pointing his gun at the suspect.

“Why should I? Already going down for one murder.” The man heaved them both over and into the Thames. Sherlock gasped for air a moment before the water went over his head.

He lost his grip on the suspect as strong hands pulled him up and out by the back of his coat. He dimly noticed the flashing lights of police cruisers as two other officers pulled out the still struggling suspect.

“I’m afraid the murder weapon is somewhere downstream,” muttered Sherlock, starting to shiver as Lestrade walked up.

“We’ll take care of it,” he said, looking at Sherlock sympathetically.

“I’ll get him home,” promised John, peeling the soaked Belstaff off Sherlock’s shoulders. It would need a thorough cleaning after that dip in the Thames.

“What were you thinking?” asked John, shaking his head and looking Sherlock over for any other injuries. 

“He had a weapon,” said Sherlock, as if that explained everything.

“He could have hurt you, or worse,” said John, helping Sherlock to his feet, draping the coat over one arm, and leading him back towards the main road.

“Better me than you.”

John stopped in his tracks. Sherlock was confused by the anger on his face as he turned to face him. “What does that mean?” He asked, voice deceptively calm.

“Rosie has already lost one parent.” Sherlock resisted taking a step back.

“You can’t coddle me, Sherlock. You _know_ that.” John’s hand was flexing.

Sherlock swallowed and met his eyes. “I’m not. I took you with me tonight, did I not? But in a moment of grave danger I am the more expendable party.”

John took a step forward, thoroughly in Sherlock’s space. “Never, Sherlock. You are _never_ expendable and don’t you dare think you are.”

“But...”

“I lost you once, Sherlock. What makes you think I could stand to lose you again?” something in John’s voice cracked and he looked away.

“You have Rosie. And Mrs. Hudson, and Molly and Lestrade…”

“But they aren’t you.” John faced him again, anger and fear in his eyes.

“And they aren’t you, either.” Sherlock reached out, touched John’s shoulder. Finding no resistance, he folded him against his chest. Perhaps it was only the lack of sleep making him vulnerable?

John grasped Sherlock’s shirt. “I can’t lose you again,” he repeated.

Sherlock rubbed his back, finding it similar to the way he soothed Rosie. “You won’t,” he promised.

With the way John shook in his arms, Sherlock was rather glad they were out of view of the Yard. The dawn had barely broken, but it was growing lighter by the minute. He leaned down and nuzzled the top of his head. “John?”

“Yeah?” John pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“When I was going to leave, when I was saying goodbye on the tarmac… I meant to say something else…”

John nodded, still looking down. “I know,” he said quietly.

Sherlock swallowed.

John took a breath, gathered himself, then looked up at Sherlock. He studied his face just a moment, then leaned up and kissed him, softly.

Sherlock’s eyes closed, but they slipped open slowly as John pulled away. “I love you, too,” said John.

If it were possible to freeze a moment, to truly hold onto one forever, Sherlock would have chosen this one. Thames water dripping from his hair, John’s arms and lower legs soaked from pulling him out. The sun rising over London. The reflection of the police lights on the buildings around them. John looking at him with long-suffering affection, and the words still hanging in the air.

John moved first, nudging Sherlock towards the street. The city started moving again around them. Sherlock took in a breath, then another. “I’ll endeavor to be more careful,” he said as he summoned a cab.

“Good. Rosie needs her ‘Lock too.”

John smiled up at him, and for the first time in a very long time, Sherlock thought that, yes, it really would all be okay.

**

Mrs. Hudson kept Rosie most of the next day. Sherlock took the first shower, being sure to leave enough hot water for John. He knew he should at least try to sleep, so he went and laid down. To his surprise, John came and lay by his side when he finished his own shower, soon snoring. Sherlock curled up on his chest and fell asleep much quicker than usual.

They collected Rosie in the late afternoon, leading to an epic tantrum when John prevented her from taking a handful of biscuits with her. John carried her to her room to let her cry it out, but by dinnertime she was back to her usually pleasant disposition. 

After dinner, John and Sherlock settled on the sofa, something banal and child-friendly on the telly. Sherlock leaned against John and he put an arm around him. It all felt natural as breathing. 

After a while, John got up to bathe Rosie and get her ready for bed. Sherlock picked up her toys and made sure her special elephant was in the crib. He was still in the nursery when John walked in with Rosie. He settled into the rocking chair and cuddled her against his chest. Sherlock started to slip out, but John shook his head.

Instead, Sherlock took a seat on the floor. Rosie sucked her thumb and listened as John sang his lullaby again. Sherlock leaned against the doorway, feeling himself start to drift off as well. He startled awake when John nudged him with his toe, evidently after putting Rosie down.

Sherlock accepted a hand up and John led him downstairs, chuckling. “If I’d know that worked on you I would have tried it years ago.”

“Perhaps some unremembered childhood event,” said Sherlock, pondering.

John tugged him down and kissed him. “Don’t start thinking now.”

“If you insist,” said Sherlock, before kissing him back.

John cupped his neck and deepened the kiss, something warm and needy in his touch.

Sherlock moaned softly and took his hand as they broke apart. “She’ll be asleep for a little while,” he said, leading John back to his bed.

“Don’t be surprised if she comes looking for us later,” smiled John, climbing in after him.

“That’s later,” said Sherlock, leaning in for another kiss.

John lay him back as he kissed him, almost reverentially. Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair. “We don’t have to if you…”

“Oh I want to,” said John. “And I have for a very long time.”

He undressed Sherlock, kissing his skin as he exposed it, though he shied away from the scar in the middle of his chest. Sherlock leaned up and tugged John’s shirt over his head, kissing the scar on his shoulder.

John went back to kissing his lips and they stayed like that for a while, just tasting one another, hands sliding across bare skin or tangling in hair. The warmth of their bodies pressed against one another. Sherlock could feel John’s arousal against his thigh. Between that and the kissing Sherlock tingled with anticipation, a type of high he’d never imagined.

It was Sherlock that took the next step, undoing and pushing down his bottoms and pants. John wrapped a hand around his cock and gave him a stroke, then raised his head, smiled at Sherlock, and moved down the bed. Sherlock moaned as he wrapped his mouth around him.

John had clearly done this before. Sherlock pushed aside any other thoughts or deductions, letting himself surrender. He’d never let himself imagine this, though some part of him had hoped… but the reality was far better. He ran fingers through John’s hair, quiet moans escaping from both of them.

“John,” he whispered, after a few minutes.

Raising his head again, John wiped his mouth and looked at him in the semi-darkness.

“I want you to take me,” said Sherlock, with calm certainty.

John nodded and got out of bed to finish undressing. Sherlock kicked his pants off the rest of the way. John fetched the lube and went back to kissing Sherlock as he tenderly opened him.

Sherlock arched against his touch, reaching down to stroke John’s ample cock. John groaned and dropped his head to nibble Sherlock’s throat and collarbone. Sherlock was nearly dizzy with want. “Please,” he said quietly.

John moved between his thighs. He kissed Sherlock one more time before lining up and sinking into him. They groaned together, moving in perfect sync. Sherlock held John close, reveling in the sensation of being filled by him, the way his cock dragged against John’s stomach. John’s breath came in harsh pants as he moved.

It took little time to find their release after that, John filling him with a quiet moan, Sherlock following just after, leaving fingerprints on his skin. They lay in the darkness together for long minutes, hearts still racing, the enormity of what they’d done sinking in around them. 

John moved first, kissing Sherlock and carefully pulling out. “We need to clean up.”

Sherlock nodded and followed him into the en suite. They wiped each other down, then pulled on clothes to sleep in. Finally, they went back to bed. This time it was John that curled up against Sherlock, perhaps a bit of post-coital need. John sighed as he settled.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and kissed his temple. “John?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Just as Sherlock started to drift off himself, there was the sound of little feet. Rosie sucked her thumb as she looked at them, then climbed up and tucked herself against Sherlock’s other side, looking at her father for a long moment before closing her eyes.

Sherlock smiled and held them both close. This then, was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to HumsHappily, Noadventureshere and Amythe3lder for reading it over.
> 
> And Smirkdoctor for getting me onto the Rosie bandwagon, and encouraging me through this.
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7dW1FtfS9Q) was the lullaby I was thinking of.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [merindab](http://merindab.tumblr.com)


End file.
